


a crow is perched

by aelibia



Series: Prompt Fills [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Bluebell is the goodest girl, F/M, Hana is a Veterinarian, Hana is also a Bartender, Itachi has a Crush, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prohibition, Service Dogs, Speakeasies, Spying, War Veteran, World War I, fuq the police, old fashioned (cocktail), period-typical colloquialisms, war hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelibia/pseuds/aelibia
Summary: War veterans never got any real sleep. War heroes never got any real peace. Being in the unfortunate position of claiming both titles meant Itachi got neither, and no real future after all that. Post-WWI Prohibition AU.
Relationships: Inuzuka Hana/Uchiha Itachi
Series: Prompt Fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529195
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	a crow is perched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clementive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementive/gifts).



> a prompt fill for an exchange with Clementive

War veterans never got any real sleep. War heroes never got any real peace. Being in the unfortunate position of claiming both titles meant Itachi got neither, and no real future after all that. 

People sometimes hired broken veterans out of pity. Nobody really hired decorated war heroes, because everyone assumed everyone _else_ had it taken care of. And if you were a decorated war spy, well, that was even worse, wasn’t it? Once the stories were all done, nobody really trusted you. If you could spy _that_ well, their eyes always said, then you could be lying to me right this minute. 

Truth was, Itachi _did_ indulge in a bit of lying from time to time. 

Bluebell stirred at his feet and Itachi shifted his shin to press against her side. But when he looked down at her, he could see that her ears were perked up in a welcoming gesture. He’d met Bluebell--a lop-eared mutt of no distinguished or distinguishable origin--in France, about a year before the end of it all, and she’d begun to follow him after his softhearted gift of ham. Even his finest evasive maneuvers hadn’t thrown her. As a spy, he couldn’t afford anything that made him noticeable, but he supposed she earned her keep well enough after she shredded the hands of the one German officer smart enough to catch on to his games. 

“So sorry about the wait, hon. Here’s your Old Fashioned.” Hana Inuzuka slipped into the booth across from Itachi, sliding his drink across the table in her pragmatic way. Itachi picked up his drink and swirled the contents out of habit; he trusted Hana at this point, but drink-swirling was a highly reliable way of creating enough silence to compel her to start the conversation first.

She began, as she usually did, by ignoring him and first paying tribute to Bluebell. It must have been a vet thing, Itachi supposed, and he took no offense to this. “You’re looking _stunning,_ my empress,” Hana cooed underneath the table. “How does your leg feel? Can you move it?” 

With absolute patience, Bluebell allowed Hana to handle her back leg, the woman rotating the limb this way and that, the way she did at their weekly vet appointments the entire year after Itachi came back from the war. That was how he and Hana had met: Itachi had shown up to Hana’s run-down little clinic with Bluebell crying in his arms; he’d spent a nervous couple hours waiting--and then Hana had come and chewed him out for a good fifteen minutes over not seeing to Bluebell’s internal shrapnel sooner. 

It was the first time Itachi could remember that a civilian hadn’t spoken to him with fear in their eyes.The crush arrived shortly after.

“She’s been a bit slow,” Itachi said. “But it’s also getting colder.” The weather? Really.

He took a sip of his drink. Strong. Almost too much so. Hana made her drinks like she treated her animals: with absolute confidence and strong drugs as necessary. 

Bluebell loved her visits to Hana’s little clinic, and Itachi suspected it had equally as much to do with the frequent use of painkillers in their first few visits as it did with the homemade dog treats. Then again, Itachi could hardly point fingers at his innocent dog. Was he any better, ordering drink after drink from Hana at the bar she worked after hours, hoping he might get a few pats on the head out of it?

“True, true,” Hana said. “Had to dig out my winter coat this morning. Just keep an eye on her, okay? She’s such a stoic little thing. Most of the pups I work with start howling at the littlest thing.”

A knock sounded at the door, and the bar’s visitors stiffened in unison at the unfamiliar rhythm that lacked the pauses of the appropriate code. Itachi saw a flash of concern in Hana’s eyes but he stood anyway, ignoring her whispered cussing for him to sit down and stay quiet.

Living in the middle of downtown had its downsides, but one major perk was the easy access to intelligence. The police and Prohibition Unit agents in this city may have been uncomfortable with his past--most in uniform were--but nonetheless fell over themselves to impress him, letting him in on sites of future raids with an invitation that he “drop by” any time to observe. 

Given Itachi’s current drinking habits he appreciated the boot-licking, so he pushed down his more paranoid speculations on their intent and bore the attention for what benefits it gave.

Plus, it gave him one more excuse to talk to Hana. Itachi had become quite the favorite at her little establishment once he’d starting casually dropping intel between sips of brandy. One confirmation of his sincerity later--a speakeasy up the street managed to avoid a bust due to his well-timed suggestion--and Hana had given him free drinks ever since. 

“I knew it was a good idea to slip you a bar pin. Didn’t know you were so devious, Uchiha,” she’d said at Bluebell’s appointment the day after the raid. To his utter humiliation, his face had gone bright red. Though when she laughed at him, he only felt a warm satisfaction in his belly. 

At the time, the discrepancy between her laughter and his reaction to it had bothered him and he’d obsessed over it for weeks. A good spy unraveled social puzzles when tics, behaviors, and mannerisms didn’t seem to fit. A dead spy didn’t.

He figured it out soon enough, once he finally had the stuff to admit that he possibly, maybe, could _potentially_ have a crush on his dog’s vet.

At the entrance, he set his feet and squared his shoulders, donning the costume of authority as easily as he stepped into a pair of house shoes. He was ready for the agents when they crossed the threshold, but from the looks of surprise on their faces they clearly weren’t ready for him.

“Oh, sir, we didn’t realize--if you’ll just be on your way, of course we wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone.” Their simpering didn’t hide their fear, which Itachi easily identified from years of practice. The look that said, _You’re amazing, but don’t come any closer._

“You aren’t needed here, officers.”

“Excuse me, sir?” The two men blinked owlishly at him. Itachi could barely tell them apart. They’d even dressed the same, he noted while glaring them up and down: too-long slacks, fake leather dress shoes that’d crack in a week, hats from the drugstore. Even their personalities melted down into a single, oily puddle. Bland, uninteresting, unnoticeable. They huddled within the door like two doves in a cage.

“You aren’t needed here,” Itachi repeated. “As you can see, I have this site secured. I have no need of your support.”

“Oh, of course, sir.” Knowing looks passed between the pair as they slunk back out. There would be consequences for this, Itachi knew. Those two wouldn’t make it a block before breaking out in a run to snitch at the nearest office. 

It didn’t matter. One visit to the big cheese in a freshly-pressed uniform would make it all go away in a heartbeat. It would’ve been disgusting if it wasn’t so convenient to his love life. 

Itachi jumped a bit when he felt Hana draw near. She stopped, as watchful of his limit as she was of Bluebell’s. He’d been too deep into his character, too focused on the persona and not enough on his surroundings. Bluebell pressed into his side again, and he concentrated on the feeling of warmth spreading across his legs. Breathe in.

“Thank you,” Hana said, sincerely. The other patrons fluttered away, their eyes wide and hands clutching at the feathers in their hats. Most stopped to convey brief condolences to Hana for the untimely fate of her bar. 

When they were alone, Hana reached out, offering, and Itachi took her hand.

“I guess you really are the real McCoy, huh? Scared the shit out of those coppers.” She gave his hand a squeeze. Itachi looked into her face and saw gratitude, warmth. And a bit of something else.

“Hana,” he said. He watched her body still as she held her breath.

“May I buy you dinner tonight?” Itachi spoke softly.

“Hell _yes,_ you can.” The corners of her eyes wrinkled when Hana laughed. He’d never noticed that before.

Breathe out.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 comment = 1 pat for Bluebell


End file.
